


Handle With Care

by phoenix089



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: Just a drabble, M/M, Mpreg, No Alpha/Omega dynamics, Pointless fluff really. With Mpreg, Pregnant John to be specific, Sherlock is a moody lil shit, but John loves him anyway, halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix089/pseuds/phoenix089
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is fully aware that Sherlock hates holidays. He's not going to let that stop him from decorating the apartment for Halloween though - Especially since Sherlock's going to have to learn to tolerate Holidays eventually anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handle With Care

**Author's Note:**

> Wifey drew me something for Halloween that I simply _adored_ , so I wanted to write her this as thanks. She does love Pregnant John after all (◡‿◡✿)

Not for the first time that night, John’s attention was drawn to an irritated sigh, followed by an equally irritated mutter of “Ridiculous,” and, just like the other twenty times, he made a point to ignore the petulant complaint as he continued to fiddle with the fake cobwebs.

Cocking his head, John took a step back and admired his handiwork. The room was swathed in cotton-wool webbing, the fake skeleton he’d borrowed from the clinic was propped by the window, making it seem as if it were looking down into the street morosely – John would have to go check if you could actually see it from the street or not – and there was a plastic cauldron full of assorted sweets sitting on the coffee table. The only thing John had left to do was string up the Jack-O-Lantern lights, and then the room would be acceptably festive.

Humming thoughtfully, John glanced around the room, trying to decide where the best place to hang the lanterns would be. He couldn’t stop his mouth from tugging into an amused grin as his gaze came to rest on Sherlock though, the consulting Detective moodily plucking at the cat tail John had convinced him to wear as he lay on the couch.

Eying the cat-ear headband in his hands with distaste, Sherlock didn’t even look up as he muttered, “Your effort will have been for nothing.” John rolled his eyes at the comment, and made a point to ignore the glare that Sherlock shot him as he began to detangle the lights.

Not to be dissuaded by the silence, Sherlock continued, “You know full well that Mrs. Hudson will be the one to answer the door if we _do_ get any trick-or-treaters.”

“I’ve asked her to send them up here,” John told the pouting man as he dragged a chair over to beside the door, one end of the string of Jack-O-Lanterns in his hand. He managed to count to two, and then he couldn’t help but smirk at the horrified, “You did _what_?” that followed his remark.

As soon as he began to fix the decoration to the wall though, John’s smirk faded at Sherlock’s resilience. It wasn’t just Halloween – Sherlock barely tolerated Christmas, he scoffed at the concept of Valentine’s Day, and turned his nose up at St. Patricks day. John didn’t think he’d even celebrated his own birthday before John came into his life and forced him to do _something_ for it.

Chewing at the edge of his lip, John wasn’t able to stop himself from murmuring, “You’re gonna have to learn to like holidays Sherlock, you know that right?”

There was a beat of silence in the room, and then the tapping of thumbs against a keypad resumed as Sherlock replied, “I fail to see why,” and John’s hand ghosted over his stomach before he secured another part of the Jack-O-Lantern lights to the wall.

John’s eyebrows knotted together as he raised his arm up higher. He could feel the angry retort on his tongue – The demand to know if Sherlock was going to be a git about birthday parties, and school functions too – but the words died on his tongue at an unexpected sensation in his belly.

Gasping, John dropped his arm and wrapped it around his swollen stomach, his eyes wide as he looked down at the bulging orange material. Behind him, John heard a flurry of movement as Sherlock darted over, his voice concerned, and slightly panicked as he asked “John?”

John ignored the panicked man beside him though as he pressed his hands against his stomach. Just as he began to wonder if he’d imagined the curious feeling, there was another sharp… not _pain_ , but unexpected pressure coming from within.

Frenzied admonitions were falling from Sherlock’s lips –  “Are you hurt? I told you not to do that! You shouldn’t be stretching yourself like that! The books say not to overexert yourself John, and decorating a room for a pointless holiday falls definitely falls under ‘overexertion’” – But John hardly even heard it, his mind was completely focused on that pressure he could still feel.

“Sherlock,” John breathed, and Sherlock’s words died as he realised John’s expression wasn’t one of pain, but one of wonder. “It’s – The baby. It’s _kicking_.”

For a few seconds, Sherlock simply looked up at him, blinking slowly as if he couldn’t comprehend what John had just told him. But then his hands were eagerly slipping beneath where John’s were resting, and John’s mouth curled into an even wider grin at the enthralled look on Sherlock’s face.

Just as John’s fingers twisted into Sherlock’s hair, the Consulting Detective tutted with disappointment, and moved his hands to John’s side instead. John’s eyebrows pulled together with confusion at the sound, but before he could ask, Sherlock had lifted him off the chair and, ignoring John’s shriek of protest, set him back down on the floor of the apartment.

“Take off that ridiculous pumpkin suit,” Sherlock demanded, and, before John could do anything more than frown with irritation, he added, “I can’t feel a thing through it,” with a faint flush to his cheeks.

At that, John could only grin, mutter a fond, “Idiot,” and begin to wrestle the padded suit up over his head. No sooner than he’d agreed, Sherlock had raced over to the door and then down the stairs, and John couldn’t help but snort as he noticed the cat tail swishing along behind him. Distantly, he heard Sherlock inform Mrs. Hudson that under _no_ circumstance was she to send any trick-or-treaters up to them.

In the end, Sherlock had been right – As usual. John’s effort to decorate the room had turned out to be pointless, because they’d spent the entire night lying on the couch, Sherlock’s hands and ear pressed to John’s stomach as he waited impatiently for another kick.      

 


End file.
